The Accidental Summoning
The last semester of my freshman year of college, I drank far too much. Shot after shot of clear spirits, mixed with warm ales and colorful sparkling mixed drinks, I was in an almost constant hammered state as I attempted to finish my last week of class for the school year, jam-packed full of tests and term papers, study guides and stressful, sleepless nights. Despite my partying nature, and even though I was undoubtedly hungover the day it first appeared, I have always been firm in my belief that the being appeared.
Technically, I could blame this all on my roommate, since he’s the reason I was late in finishing my last research paper for English. Seth, my roommate, is responsible for dragging me from party to party, practically forcing me to chug alcoholic drink, one after another. It was also Seth who left me alone that night, to go to yet another party I presume, but as intelligent and mature as I am now, I see that it was no more Seth’s fault than it was mine. Sure, I could’ve drunk less, left parties earlier, focused more on my studies, or even demanded Seth stay in the room with me, as I have always hated being alone, but I didn’t, and he didn’t, and that’s why this all happened.
Allow me to explain, after a three-day vodka bender, where I skipped all my classes in late April and did nothing but chug cheap fruit-flavored vodka straight from the bottle, in nothing but my underwear; I realized I was going to fail English 111. And being an English major, the irony did not escape me. Waking up with a splitting headache and a throat drier than sandpaper, I foggily knew what I had to do. If I didn’t get an A on my final paper for English, my entire future would be over. There would be no degree, no teaching certification, no job helping underprivileged children learn the finer details of our language, and hell to pay from my parents as they were footing the bill for my expensive liberal arts university.
Once again, skipping all my classes, with the rationale that I needed as much time as possible to write a seven-page paper that was due the next day, on a topic I hadn’t researched, I was up against what felt an impossible task. Nevertheless, I was more determined than I have ever been concerning school before. After a quick shower and a couple of Alka seltzers, I threw on a sweater and a pair of sweatpants and headed towards the campus library. It was rainy and chilly as I hurried across the quad, my head throbbing with each heartbeat. Even though it was nearing noon, it was ominously dark out. Retrieving thick, leather-bound books on poverty, education, and adolescent drug use, I made a beeline back for the warm, dry safety of my dorm room. The topic of the paper I had chosen was to inform the reader of the effects of the lack of education for children in poverty and how that leads to rampant drug use later on in life. A topic I had no experience in myself, but something I hoped to devote my life to helping end.
Seth was either at class or more than likely still sleeping away a hangover in some girl’s bed, wherever he was, it was oddly lonely as I worked by myself in the ten by ten room. With the stack of my books open for dramatic effect, not reading them, I started to copy and paste from Google into the blank word document I had opened. Within ten minutes, I was done. Seven whole pages, double spaced MLA format. I read over it and immediately concluded that it made no sense. Even if it did make sense, it was so obviously more educated and profound sounding than my writing, that it would be apparent to my professor that I didn’t author it. Resigned to trying to put effort into it, I set out the rest of the afternoon, reading chapter after chapter of the rented books and learning something along the way. As I read, I took notes here and there on a yellow legal pad I kept in the corner of my college-issued wooden desk.
As the gloomy day turned to evening and the rain persisted, thick drops tapping every few seconds on our one shared window, that overlooked the faculty parking lot, I diligently stayed focused on my enormous undertaking, stopping only for water, snacks or bathroom breaks. To my surprise, Seth still hadn’t returned to the room and wasn’t picking up his phone. Something was really wrong with him. But, being the selfish person, I was then, and too hyper-focused on my paper, I worked on. I was almost halfway done with my paper, about three pages deep when I just couldn’t focus anymore. The words on the page became fuzzy, my headache returned with a renewed vigor, and my craving for something more substantial than the beer in the minifridge grew in strength. But I was still determined. I was not going to stop until my paper was finished, a masterpiece even. Feeling like I might throw up if I looked at my MacBook for another second, I cast my eyes towards the yellow legal pad in front of me, scattered with chicken scratch notes about individual pages and statistics, quotes, and keywords. Not fully paying attention to what I was drawing, I absentmindedly doodled on the page with my red pen. I drew intersecting lines and circles, in what I didn’t think was a pattern of any kind.
Before I could fully comprehend what was happening, the red lines on the paper started to glow, pulsate even in a yellow and gold light. This light shot up in a beam towards the ceiling, seeming to pierce through. The room got very dark and windy, even though the window was closed and the desk lamp still emitting its faint warm light. My library books fell to the floor with a loud thump. I looked around the room. I was in shock as the TV on top of the dresser came on and then turned back off, the overhead light flashed, the air conditioner changed from cold to heat in an instant, and then just like that ceased. Everything was back to normal. I picked up the few books that fell and the pieces of mail and pictures that fell off the wall, placing them all in a heap on my bed, to be sorted later. I had to figure out what just happened. Did I imagine it? Did the whole dorm feel it? Questions rushed through my head. Suddenly, remembering the doodle I drew, I ran back over to the desk only to discover in horror that the lines that had just glowed gold were now black, a brown burn mark staining the page.
Deciding that I better check on the others that lived on my floor, I started towards the door, but before I could reach it, I heard a noisy banging erupting from the wardrobe at the far side of the room. Surely, I had imagined that, right? I still felt inclined as petrifying as it was, to check it out. Just to quell my fears. My hands shaking, I crept over to the wardrobe, and wincing, I pulled open the wardrobe doors. Inside the particleboard faux wood box was a sight so disturbing that the second I saw it, I slammed the wardrobe doors shut, pinned them closed with my desk chair, and ran out of my dorm room out into the hall. I really needed to stop drinking. Out in the corridor, the faded red carpet I hated so soft under my bare feet, I took a few deep breaths to regain my exposure. I was expecting to see doors open and people running in the halls, but there was no one. Almost all the doors were closed, and I could hear the usual faint conversations, TV chatter, and quiet music playing through small speakers. Everything was normal. I really must be crazy.
Taking another deep breath, I drew in all the strength I could muster in my horrified state and reentered the room. Everything was how I left it. Once again, I sauntered over to the wardrobe, and removing the chair, opened the doors. Nope. I wasn’t crazy. This thing was real. It had to be. What stood before me, atop of fallen clothes and half hiding behind the still hanging shirts and slacks, was a small elf type creature, with pointed ears, wrinkled, pale skin, a green pointed hat, with matching green pointed shoes, a red vest and suspenders and miniature-sized pants. He couldn’t’ve been more than three feet tall. He wasn’t moving, but he was looking around the room, with what seemed to be curiosity in his large green eyes. Despite my fear, I had to know who or rather what he was. Taking my still shaking pointer finger, I gently tapped his button nose.
“Please, sir! Do not touch me there!” He demanded in a high-pitched masculine tone.
“What? You can talk?” I asked, rubbing my eyes in shock.
“Yes, sir, and I ask that you do not touch me.” I stared at him in disbelief at an actual loss for words. He couldn’t have come at a worse time.
“I do apologize, sir. But now that we’ve gotten that out of the way. Why did you summon me today?” The creature inquired
“Is this because of the doodle I drew on my paper? I was just bored. I didn’t mean anything by it.” I stammered, feeling the urge to vomit stronger, my palms sweaty.
“Let me see, sir.” He said. And then once I handed him the legal pad. “Ah, yes, this is it. It looks like you drew Adelaide’s Line. No matter if it was on accident or purpose. I am here now, and I can’t leave until you are satisfied with my help.”
“Your help? You won’t leave?” I choked out, still unable to think.
“Oh dear, sir, it looks like I will need to explain the rules to you. Well first, my name is Sweeney, and I am a Gorbsie.” Seeing my look of confusion intensify, he said: “A Gorbsie is like an elf except we can fly, and also we practice magic.”
“Gorbsie?” The word felt weird in my mouth. Unnatural.
“Yes, sir. Gorbsie. Now, as I was saying, I cannot leave until you are satisfied with my help. So, sir. How can I help you?” He looked at me with expecting eyes, waiting for a response.
“Well, I was writing my paper. I need to finish it, so you’re going to have to wait for me to do that.” I wished that Seth could be here to see this. He would’ve gotten a kick out of it. Suddenly, I wasn’t afraid. As weird as it was, he seemed perfectly harmless.
“A paper? I fear I can’t be of much help in that department, sir. But perhaps, you would like a massage while you work? Or I can sing you one of my people’s classic songs?”
“Uh…it’s okay. Can you just sit there on my bed?” And “Yeah, right there next to all the stuff.” As he awkwardly climbed onto my bed, struggling to pull himself up, as it was high up to allow for storage underneath.
“I’ll be here until you need my help, sir.” He responded in his ever-polite tone.
“Do you want a beer, Sweeney, was it?” I asked, expecting a lecture on drinking or an explanation of how he couldn’t drink on the job. To my surprise, Sweeney obliged, and I pulled two ice-cold cans of PBR from the minifridge and cracking them both open, handed him one.
“Cheers,” I announced, raising my can.
“Cheers, sir.” He returned, a smile growing on his presumably old face, showing a row of sharp yellow teeth.
“So, you said you could fly?”
“The humans always want to see this.” He mumbled under his breath, and reluctantly put his beer down on the nightstand and with what seemed like minimal effort, levitated a few inches above the bed and then in one swift motion, with no wings or anything to keep him airborne, flew across my head, whizzing around the room at a whipping speed, all the while still seated in a cross-legged position.
“Yeah, that’s terrifying, never do that again,” I commanded once he sat back on the bed.
“As you desire, sir.”
“Right, now last question. Where do you come from?”
He let out a loud burp, and as we both looked at each other and burst out in laughter, he loosened up, explaining that he came from a magical kingdom far away, called Azordolphia, and could only be summoned by what I drew. The beers flew easily after that. I forgot all about my paper, and he forgot all about his manners and subordinate attitude as we pounded back shitty beer after shitty beer. I told him about my drinking problems, which we laughed about as we drank more. He told me about the crystal, unpolluted blue lakes and lush green forests in his kingdom and how much his people hated the human’s disgusting, trashed World. I confided that I wanted to teach children, and he whispered that he hated being enslaved to the dark magic that forced him to help humans when summoned. The night wore on. At any moment, I expected Seth to burst in, but he never did. I couldn’t believe it, but this creature that I didn’t think it existed was fast becoming my best friend. We were so similar yet so different. We both hated spiders and the show Friends. We both loved AC/DC and Barack Obama. Apparently, in the Gorbsie world, Obama is akin to a God or a Buddha, highly respected and loved.
It must have been after midnight, and both of us properly smashed, I realized I had less than nine hours to finish my paper.
“Sweeney, I have to finish this paper. I have to sober up.” I begged. “You have to help me since this is your fault.”
“As you wish, bastard.” He collapsed on his side on the bed, seizing in fits of laughter.
“Haha, very funny. Now help me. It is what you are obliged to do, don’t forget.”
“Okay, okay. “
Wasting no time, Sweeney and I cracked open the window, and as I shoved my blood-rushed face out into the fresh night air, I felt refreshed, but not sober.
“It’s not working!” I was frustrated.
Next, much to Sweeney’s annoyance, I shoved him my large backpack and swung him over my shoulder, zipping it tight, of course, poking him a few air holes. I dizzily snuck into the empty hall and quietly jogged down to the end where there was a small kitchenette. I shut the door, and releasing Sweeney, forced him to make me coffee. I chugged the watered-down steaming beverage, still feeling roaring drunk.
“Make me a sandwich,” I commanded
“Excuse me?” “Please, Sween, I’m hungry.” I purred.
“Fine. But I’m making myself a sandwich too.”
As my little helper Gorbsie set about making our midnight snacks, pulling the mayo and mustard out of the floor fridge, Seth burst through the door separating the hall from the kitchenette. Stumbling drunk himself, he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the small elf like monster smearing condiments haphazardly on sourdough.
“What the hell is that, Martin?” He looked at me in horror. I noticed yellow vomit on his red hoodie, and his black hair was even messier and greasier than usual. His jeans were covered in holes and grass stains.
“Oh, him?” I asked smartly. “This is Sweeney, and he’s a Gorbsie I accidentally summoned. He’s here to help me. Seth, meet Sweeney. Sweeney, meet my roommate, Seth.” Seth did not think the whole situation was as funny as I had imagined. Quite the opposite. In his drunken stupor, swaying side to side, Seth strode over to Sweeney and punched him square in the face, knocking him onto the white linoleum.
“Why the fuck did you do that? He is a good elf!”
“He scared me! Look, he’s fine.” Seth assured me.
We stood over him, and as I bent to try and slap him awake, which seemed like a good idea at the time, I discovered he was out cold.
“You knocked him out, you asshole!”
“Well, pardon me. Next time a helpful elf appears to grant you wishes, let me shake the elf’s hand instead.”
“That would be lovely, actually.”
Seth huffed in response.
“We have to wake him up!” I instructed.
Together, well as together as two drunk college guys can be at one in the morning, we splashed lukewarm water from the sink on him, but that only made the room smell weird. We stuck salt and pepper under his nose. We blew in his mouth. We did some light chest compressions, for good measure, although I have to admit I never found out where his heart was. A few minutes later, giving up hope on waking Sweeney and on sobering up enough to finish my paper in time, I sat back in a plastic chair against the wall, and put my head in my hands, devastated that I was going to be a college dropout.
“What did you giant assholes do to me? Why am I all wet? And do I smell pepper? Shit, my head hurts.”
I shot up. I couldn’t believe it. Sweeney was awake! Maybe I wasn’t doomed. Elated, I ran up and hugged my sopping wet new friend.
“What did I tell you about touching me?”
“Sorry, sorry. Seth didn’t mean anything, we promise. He just got scared when he punched you.”
Seth nodded in agreement.
“Please, Sweeney, use your magic or something to help me finish this paper.”
“What paper?” Seth asked.
“My English final. If I don’t get an A on it, I flunk out.”
“Do you really not remember?” Seth asked.
“I might be able to figure out something,” Sweeney confirmed.
“No Sweeney, wait! Martin, when you were blacked out the other night. Do you know when you were chugging all that vodka in your briefs? Yeah, well that night, you got shitfaced and paid that nerd, Eric, who lives across the hall two hundred dollars to write your paper for you.”
I didn’t know whether to scream, laugh, or cry. I was saved! Also, I had wasted an entire day and missed class for nothing. Feeling a rush of relief wash over my body, Seth went and got us a bottle of vodka from Derk, who lives a floor below and sells to minors frequently. Back in our dorm, Seth, Sweeney, and I drank shot after shot, toasting to our fast friendship. As the morning sun peered in through the uncovered window, I knew what had to be done.
“Sweeney, you have helped me in the greatest way possible, tonight.”
“How’s that?” Sweeney wondered.
“You helped me to relax and unwind.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you would’ve gotten drunk anyways. You didn’t need a magical knockoff elf as an excuse to feed your rampant alcoholism.” He retorted. And then added meekly, “Sir.”
Then with a poof and my jaw practically touching the floor, Sweeney disappeared, never to be seen again. I’ve redrawn that doodle at least a hundred times over the years that followed, always getting a different Gorbsie, never Sweeney. I’ve even convinced a few to drink with me, but none of them are quite like the first. I even briefly dated a girl Gorbsie once, named Gisselle, but that was a mistake. In the end, I guess Sweeney was right, I flunked out of college the first semester of my sophomore year and have ever since been working odd jobs here and there to stay afloat. I guess there was a lesson to be learned by the whole ordeal with the term paper and the Gorbsie, but as magical as Sweeney was, he couldn’t fix my alcoholism.